


Theme & Timbre -- L'istesso Tempo

by EmilaWanKenobi



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:24:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilaWanKenobi/pseuds/EmilaWanKenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>L'istesso tempo - the speed of the beat remains the same although the notation</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theme & Timbre -- L'istesso Tempo

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to RavenD for letting me play in her orchestra. May your baton

|  [Master Apprentice](http://www.masterapprentice.org/html/index.html) [Archive](http://www.masterapprentice.org/html/archive.html) Theme & Timbre -- L'istesso Tempo  | 

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## Theme & Timbre -- L'istesso Tempo 

### by Emila-Wan Kenobi 

    

Feedback: Oh, give it to me baby ... [emila_wan@yahoo.com](mailto:emila_wan@yahoo.com)

Archive: M_A. Others please ask. Also archived at <http://www.jediphiles.com/index69.htm>

Category: First time, PWP 

Pairing: Q/O 

Rating: NC-17 

Spoilers: None 

Summary: L'istesso tempo - the speed of the beat remains the same although the notation changes. 

Disclaimer: George Lucas is da man. He owns everything. We just play. 

Warnings: m/m sex 

Series: Theme and Timbre -- this wonderful series started by RavenD explores the myriad facets of Q/O through musical notation. The rest of the series can be found at <http://www.ravenswing.com/tat/index.html>. 

Note: Thanks so much to RavenD for letting me play in her orchestra. May your baton never falter! 

Homage: You might be reminded of _that scene_ from Eye of the Beholder at one point ... that's precisely what I intended. 

    

_L'istesso tempo - the speed of the beat remains the same although the notation changes._

The pounding of his heart sounded too loud in the quiet cabin. 

A Jedi controlled his thoughts; he was not controlled by them. A Jedi was ruled by his mind, not his emotions. A Jedi felt only serenity, never passion. 

Yet he felt he could no more stop himself than he could stop the stars from shining. 

He lay on the narrow bunk, white sheets rough beneath him, his hips undulating slowly, sensuously, as he thought about the man on the other side of the metal bulkhead. They were light-years from anywhere, riding a wave outside of time and space to another planet, another mission. He could hardly remember where, or why. All that existed for him was an awareness of the other, a light through the Force that seemed to burn his very soul. 

He should be sleeping. The object of his desire doubtless already lay deep in slumber. He imagined he could feel the heat of the other's body through the bulkhead. He pressed one hand there, slid the palm down and over, so fevered with his need that he could ignore the cold of the metal and imagine the silk of his partner's flank as he caressed it. So close ... only a few centimeters away, the man he loved more than his own life slept, perhaps even dreamed. 

Moaning softly, he rolled to his back, letting his hand slip from the bulkhead and drift across his chest, brushing his nipples. His hips still rocked in that same slow rhythm, and his other hand joined in counterpoint, sliding along the throbbing shaft that lay hard and hot against his belly. 

He modulated his breathing, resisting the urge to speed his strokes. It was a penance of sorts, keeping to the steady, slow beat, drawing out the agony as one might spin a thread of finest spidersilk. He would not rush to finish. Not when finishing meant facing his own solitude once again, and the reality that the man in the next bed did not think of him this way; never had, never would. 

His free hand rose from his chest to stroke his face. He kissed his own fingers, his palm, the back of his hand, pretending the work-roughened flesh was instead the soft lips of his beloved, warm on his mouth, his cheeks, his eyelids, descending upon him again and again and again in time to the stroking of his other hand -- which in his mind was no longer a hand, but something hotter, and tighter, and infinitely more precious, enfolding him, welcoming him with joy, accepting him, loving him despite all his flaws and the years that separated them. It could never be, yet for a few moments he could lose himself in the beat of his own heart and be not a Jedi but only a man, a creature of flesh and bone and blood who craved to be touched, cherished, __loved_ _. 

How long had he felt this way? He no longer knew. It seemed to him he had loved the man \-- been _ _in love_ _ with him -- all his life. In the past he had fought the feeling, tried to meditate it away, punished himself, railed at fate, all to no avail. Now, he simply accepted it as one might accept some chronic illness, the pain of wanting what he could never have a dull throb in the background of his everyday existence. 

He was close to the end now, though he did not allow his hand to falter. His phantom lover's kisses never varied their sedate pace as they traced a line down his throat and onto his chest, then back up again. He brought that hand to his mouth and sucked in a finger, slicked it with his tongue. He rolled onto his side, his shaft still pumping lazily into his fist. He brought the finger down, down, until the wet tip grazed against the opening to his body, and he let out a tiny gasp. He pushed inside. Oh, to feel his beloved there, just there, filling him, riding him to the beat of this silent song. The thrumming of his desire sent ripples along the strands of the Force. 

They echoed back to him changed, modulated, no longer purely his own. 

His eyes flew open. There before him, silhouetted against the dim light from the comm, stood the object of his silent yearning. He opened his mouth to say something, an apology, a plea for mercy ... he wasn't sure what. But before he could utter more than a surprised whimper, the other man had knelt and covered his hand in a strong grip, forcing him to resume the steady rhythm that had begun to falter. 

There were no words between them. None were needed. His heart seemed to glow as hot as a sun within his breast as his lover bent and covered his mouth with kisses. His finger slid free and he brushed his hand along his lover's arm, down, down, until he had taken the other's shaft in a solid grip. He stroked him in tempo, and was stroked in return, with hands, with tongue, and with the Force, through which he felt waves of love and joy and lust break over him like a tide, drowning him in bliss. 

So caught up was he in the rhythm of their lovemaking that he could no longer tell where his own body ended and the other's began. Somehow he found himself lying back, his fingers buried in his beloved's hair as the other continued stroking with mouth, lips, teeth, tongue, over and around him, up and down, in that slow rhythm that was like torture to his overwrought senses. He tried to speed up, to slow down, anything to vary the pace, only to find his hips pinned to the bed with strong hands. 

From one moment to the next he slipped over the edge, his whole body convulsing as he reached completion and poured himself out into his lover's mouth with a silent scream. The other continued to suck greedily, steadily, until with a final kiss he let the softened organ slip from his lips. 

With a supreme effort, he reached out and took the other's still-eager shaft in his hand. His lover groaned and let him go, leaned forward to give him better access as he took over the beat. 

He stroked his lover's erection lazily, floating in the aftermath of the most powerful climax he had ever felt, grinning like a fool and hard pressed not to laugh aloud. 

Then the laugh turned to a gasp as he felt a wet finger push against his opening. He rolled to his belly and spread his legs, making sure to keep his strokes even despite the feel of his lover stretching him, opening him. Another finger joined the first; he groaned as he felt his arousal renewing. 

His lover placed a hand at the back of his neck, tugged him toward the edge of the bunk. He understood at once and shifted, replacing his hand with his mouth upon the hot, silky flesh that leapt as he took it in. Now it was his turn to keep the rhythm steady as he felt his lover's eagerness for more, faster, harder. A third finger breached him, filling him, stretching him beyond what he had imagined he could take. He continued to suck and lick the pulsing flesh, wetting it thoroughly. 

His lover's thighs began to tremble with the effort of holding back his thrusting. He let the heavy erection slip from his mouth, and in one smooth motion he turned, slipping his legs from the bed. The other's fingers were still buried in him, stroking, stretching, but when he settled onto his knees, his chest draped over the bed, the fingers were replaced from one beat to the next with the hard, hot length of his lover's shaft. 

They both groaned aloud as their dance took on a new form, filling and being filled, giving and taking, little gasps of pleasure punctuating the steady slap of flesh against flesh. 

Strangely enough, it was he who finally broke the rhythm, thrashing and moaning as a second climax caught him and tumbled him out of time. His lover tried to keep the tempo for a few beats more, and then he, too, succumbed to the needs of his body and began to thrust faster, harder, gripping with bruising strength as he poured his seed into his lover's body. They collapsed, one on top of the other, and breathed in tandem, their pulses dancing the same wild tattoo. 

After a while his lover shifted and slid out of him. 

He pulled his lover onto the bunk with him, tangling their limbs. "I love you," he whispered on a sigh. 

"I know, Master," the other said. He could feel his young lover's smile against his chest. 

As he slid into sleep, he felt the pulse of two hearts beating as one. 

FINE 

    


End file.
